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by Davechicken



Series: Kylux - Fluff & Angst [23]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon Death, Injury, M/M, Post TFA, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8021221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo isn't healing right.





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The Force sustains him. It always has, it always will. Kylo knew this before he knew words: the thing beyond them, before them, above them. The underlying tapestry of the universe, to which he has front row seats, and a private audience. The _Force_. Life itself. Power itself. The reason, the goal, the aim, and the explanation.

It means - as a rule - he does not get sick. Or if he does, he compartmentalises the sensations and continues to function whilst his body fights off the infection without him needing to consider it. Or it means he powers through the pain. Pain itself (when physical, and not… deeper), is merely a way to burn brighter and faster, not a check, or a halt. In others it might curb an activity, but Kylo knows no real limits but the Force.

Which is why… which is…

Something is wrong.

Something is _fundamentally_ wrong. Ever since that day, in the snow, on the dying planet that was also the galaxy’s most destructive force ever created…

He’s been… wrong. Inside.

(He’d given up. Let the cold seep in, let the life bleed out. He’d felt his body shut down by degrees, and he’d been ready for it. The death of Han Solo had been intended to _increase_ his powers, and complete his training. But - on severing the metaphorical umbilical cord - he hadn’t felt stronger. He’d felt… _weaker_. Weaker, and when the girl bested him, when she stole his birthright: his _grandfather’s_ saber, which had been his - Kylo had been ready for the end. The Leader had turned his gaze away from his Knight, and to the _Scavenger,_  who could best him with no training. It was only right he should…)

The Force is still there, but he can’t… it doesn’t feel right. Like one of the input channels is missing in his holo-emitter, or like something inside has come loose and unmoored. He can’t… he can’t wrestle it into submission, and he can’t… his body…

The wound isn’t healing right. The one to his side. His face, neck and shoulder cauterised on impact, properly. The thin band streaking his face is angry and red, but it’s healing by degrees. The slices to his arms and legs are similar, but the first one: the one from… from… the Wookie.

(Chewbacca. Chewie. He has a _name_. Kylo has not said it. The other person - the boy who is no more - said it more often, even, than ‘Dad’, but the person he is now…)

The one to his side is not healing. There is no reason for this, none the medics can see. The heat cauterised it mostly, too, and even though his fist had beat against it to push him through the fight… it does not account for the way the pain lingers, or the skin refuses to heal right. It won’t, and he can’t make it, and it wakes him up in the night-time, cold and feeling ice-snow. Lashes that freeze, extremities that fade into the landscape. A loss of self, and a fear of how good it felt to be ready to go.

Kylo doesn’t think he wants to die, but he thinks maybe he _did_ , then.

It’s hard. 

All of it is hard.

He slaps the fresh Bacta on, and winds the bandage around his torso. He does this when Hux is not around, refusing to let him see the mess under all the white. He pulls away and lies that it needs to be left to heal whenever Hux tries, and he refuses any offer of assistance. He hopes Hux thinks it’s an aversion to being seen as weak, rather than… rather than a fear he’ll see _just how bad it is_.

Because it is. And it’s getting worse. 

Harder to move, even through normal ranges. Harder to sit, to stand, to lie. Harder to walk, and breathe. Pain that his mind can no longer tune out, and he’s sure the Force has forsaken him.

The Dark will not have him, because he cannot unfeel his love. Even now, even… now. Watching Han Solo fall, he’d still wanted him to save _him_. 

But he’d done it anyway.

The Light will not have him, because who would kill their saviour? None that were worthy of the Light.

And so he is nothing. He is without banner, without strength. 

The Leader will ask for his head any day now, or one of the Knights will see the weakness in his postures, in his forms. They will see the chance, and take it, and he will… it would have been a mercy. On the snow, on the ice. It would have been an honourable enough death: one Wookie, one trooper, one girl-who-would-be-Jedi. Three of them to take him down, and even out the scales some more. 

But no.

He had to go and be rescued, didn’t he? Had to be dragged back, and now… now he’s worthless, and it’s a coward’s way out to end it himself.

Kylo pulls the wrap tight around his ribs, and fights the wave of nausea deep inside his core. The worst part is, he doesn’t even think he cares that the Leader doesn’t need - or want - him. He knew, even before Han told him, that he was nothing more than a disposable razor to him. A few close cuts and then tossed into the recycling unit. He _knew_ , and he’d accepted that, long ago. He’d kept himself as sharp as he could for as long as he could, but then…

Then. Hux.

Hux.

And perhaps he just hitched himself to the latest star to traverse his dark sky, and maybe it’s foolish to go from the Leader himself down a rung to a General. Less strength to work for, but a lower threshold for usefulness. He didn’t have to _be_ as good, for Hux to need him.

But Kylo had thought - perhaps - that things would be different. That maybe, just maybe, it was something more than…

The point is moot. He is only what he can do, and has only _ever_ been what he can do. He is nothing without the Force, and now the Force doesn’t even care if he lives, or if he dies. It likely never did.

His hand shakes as he ties off the knot, and then he hears the door shush open. 

Hux is not supposed to be here. He is not supposed to be here, yet. There are whole hours where his schedule is full, and Kylo hasn’t had time to school his face, or put his mask (literal, or figurative) on. 

“Kylo.”  


Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He grinds his teeth hard, and feels tears spring to his eyes. “What?”

“You’re avoiding me.”  


“I’m not. I was being… efficient.”  


Hux likes efficiency, it is normally a good excuse. 

This time it does not wash, and the General walks up to him. Kylo can’t run, not now, and his hands are bloodied and the wound in his side screams and threatens to explode. 

“Let me help you,” Hux says, and takes his face between his hands.  


No, I can’t. No, I must be useful. No, I must never show weakness. No, no, no. 

“I don’t need–”  


Hux kisses him, then, and Kylo wants to break clean in half and vanish into the air itself. It hurts, it hurts so badly, and he’s not even sure it’s wholly physical. It’s the betrayal: _His_ , not Chewie’s. It’s what he did, and he knows… he knows he’s not healing because he _doesn’t think he deserves to_. He’s a fucking useless excuse for a Knight, and Hux would be better off–

“I’m not good enough,” he whispers, when the kiss breaks.   


Hux pulls him against his chest, and there’s a hand on his shoulders, and one in his hair. “You are.”

“I’m not. If I was, I wouldn’t… it wouldn’t have hurt when I…”  


“He was your father,” Hux says, after a pause. And he never acknowledges the man who Kylo used to be - the boy - but for a moment, he is doing so. “Of course it was difficult for you.”  


“I’m not strong enough.” For any of it. To be Dark, to be Light, to keep fighting when the odds get tough, to be… _anything_. He’s not strong enough.  


“Then let me help you get stronger,” Hux murmurs, rocking them both gently together. “You don’t have to do this on your own.”  


Kylo pauses, and then looks up. He searches Hux’s face for a lie, and scratches rough fingers through his surface thoughts. Hux frowns, but doesn’t ask him to stop, and then his annoyance fades as Kylo pulls back. 

“Why?”  


“You’re worth it, Kylo,” Hux tells him. “And when you need me, I’ll be here. No matter what.”  


“…no matter what?” Love has always been conditional. Love has always depended upon his actions, his abilities. Being able to keep out of a father’s head, being able to find peace and calm, being able to swear off violence, being able to _fight_. With each failure, and each disappointment, he’s been pushed away as insufficient.  


This. Isn’t real. It can’t be. One day he will fail too hard, he will do something Hux doesn’t like, he will–

The General holds him even tighter still. “No matter what.”

Kylo doesn’t believe it’s really true, but… oh, does he want it to be. 


End file.
